Mass Effect: Oblivion
by Sci-Fi Waffle
Summary: Driven to the edge of the galaxy in a desperate search for element zero, a quarian freighter stumbles upon a device built by the Reapers before their destruction. In a bid to study the object, the Council sends out an expeditionary fleet, but unbeknownst to them, the activation of the device may trigger a second cycle of extinction.
1. Prologue

On the very edge of the Milky Way galaxy lay the Perseus Veil, a vast nebula of gas and dust that housed the home system of the quarians. Driven from their homeworld of Rannoch centuries ago, the quarians were forced to live a nomadic life, drifting throughout the galaxy in a flotilla composed of thousands of ships. In 2186, they successfully retook Rannoch and achieved peace with the geth with the help of Commander Shepard.

Over the past two decades, the quarians had peacefully coexisted with the geth, establishing basic settlements upon the homeworld which then blossomed into cities of towering constructs.

However, development on this scale came at a cost, and the barren earth of Rannoch had given all it had. With the planet's resources drained the two races set out into the galaxy in search of precious metals and minerals.

The symbiosis of geth and quarian technology resulted in the invention of advanced deep-space mineral scanners, which were then installed upon a fraction of the Migrant Fleet's vessels. These ships were then tasked with retrieving resources from uninhabited planets or asteroids; some were even sent into the unexplored depths of dark space, now free from the Reaper threat.

Some ships returned with their cargo holds bulging with harvested minerals and the occasional vessel would return with a couple crates of element zero. Some ships did not return at all; swallowed up by the void of space.

Power then became an issue in the quarian-geth society. Minerals and construction materials were in abundance but with local supplies of element zero running low and only the occasional shipment coming in from the expeditions, the quarian Conclave and Admiralty were driven to desperate measures. Tens of hundreds of ships were grounded, their element zero stores transferred to the most successful expedition ships. These ships were then sent out again with their primary objective to retrieve element zero.

With element zero being so rare, and with most deposits being dangerously close to supernovas, the ships that were not as well equipped had to resort to scavenging asteroid fields and what little deposits they could find on planets.

Desperate not to return to Rannoch empty-handed, some even ventured into the very edge of the galaxy, hoping for a miracle.


	2. Chapter 1

Year 2206

The Yaakra mining vessel cruised steadily through the nebula of purple and pink dust. Roughly shaped like a tadpole, the quarian cargo freighter had been modified to store large amounts of minerals and was also installed with a large mining laser mounted on the underside of the ship's main body. Tapering away behind it were several rows of cargo containers, each able to store ten tons of collected minerals, though almost all were empty.

With limited visibility, the pilots were focused entirely on their navigational systems, their eyes darting to and fro over their command consoles. Geth units walked amongst the quarians, assisting in engineering, repairs and other jobs requiring a high level of technological skill.

"Captain, are you certain we are going to find deposits of eezo here, of all places?" one of the pilots asked, his eyes never leaving the screen.

Captain Conn'Jarrel vas Yaakra slouched low in his seat at the center of the cockpit, his face in his hands. They had been on this fruitless expedition for almost a month and had only managed to collect a quarter-ton of element zero. Doubt and discontent had settled upon the crew of his ship and he feared that mutiny was just around the corner if he continued to push this expedition.

Looking up upon hearing the pilot speak, he said, "We can't go back. Not yet. We'd be a laughing stock if we showed up with a quarter-ton of eezo," he sighed in despair, "Look at Captain Jum'Lelun vas Fovum! Captain Yal'Yumun vas Vegro! Thirty tons of eezo each! How can we compare with them? No, we're searching this entire nebula."

"Those two captains had greatly upgraded ships than the Yaakra, sir. They were able to mine the eezo-rich asteroid fields around supernovas while many others couldn't."

The captain grunted in acknowledgment but said nothing.

"With all due respect sir," the pilot insisted, "there's nothing out here."

The captain turned to a geth prime that stood stiffly beside his seat. Towering above every other being aboard, Unit 35c had been chosen as the captain's second-in-command for the expedition. So far it had proven useful, upgrading several of the Yaakra's systems to the best of its abilities, and maintaining discipline among the geth units aboard, not that they needed any.

"Unit 35c says a large group of geth had been sent to this nebula to work on a construction project of some sort for the Reapers between 2183 and 2186. Unparalleled amounts of eezo were collected and brought to this very nebula, and I intend to find out what it was they were working on to require so much of that valuable mineral," he replied.

"We have modified the Yaakra's scanning systems to primarily locate deposits of element zero among the nebula," Unit 35c added in its garbled electronic voice, "we presume that what had been built will be seen as a large mass of concentrated element zero."

The pilot, his curiosity finally getting the most of him, spun around in his seat to face the geth unit, "And you have no idea what your people were building?"

"No. All memories of the project were erased along with the Reaper code controlling us."

"I see," the pilot murmured, spinning back around to face his console.

A rapid beeping came from the console of a female quarian pilot seated to the right of the captain and a blinking red light was switched on above her workstation. Startled by the sudden commotion she scrambled to figure out the issue, her tri-fingered hands flying over the console. As abruptly as it had begun the beeping stopped, as did the flashing light.

"Well?" said Captain Conn'Jarrel.

The quarian spun around to face him and moved aside so he could see her console screen. At the center of the scanner screen was a small icon representing the Yaakra. Tiny dots of red were scattered around the scanner screen indicating traces of element zero, but what caught the captain's and every other crew member in the cockpit's eye was the area of red rapidly spreading across the screen from the upper left corner.

"I…believe we've found it, sir," the quarian stammered, appalled by the image.

"Keelah," muttered Conn'Jarrel under his breath. "Set a course for the object!" he ordered loudly.

A slight lurch shook the Yaakra as the thrusters burst into furious life, propelling the ship towards the shadowy form in the distance. The nebula's dense clouds obscured the object almost completely, and the crew relied on the navigational systems to stay on target.

Conn'Jarrel faced Unit 35c, "Was that it? That's what the geth were working on?"

"I believe so, Creator Conn'Jarrel."

"How big is it?"

"By my estimations and judging by the scanner results, it is the size of a mass relay."

"Keelah," Conn'Jarrel repeated, awestruck.

The Yaakra sped towards the object, rapidly approaching it. Conn'Jarrel's heart beat violently against his ribcage as the mounting excitement grew within him. In mere minutes, he, the captain renowned across Rannoch for his incompetence, would be in possession of the largest deposit of element zero in history!

Unit 35c derailed his train of thought with a sudden, deafening cry of "Halt!"

The pilot slammed on the reverse thrusters, slowing down the Yaakra. Gradually the vessel came to a stop, mere kilometers from slamming head-on into the object that had emerged from the clouds without warning. Everyone in the cockpit held their breath and gazed upon the object obscuring most of their view of space.

"It looks like the Citadel." Conn'Jarrel was the first to remark.

Now clearly visible against the luminous purple clouds of the nebula, the object was indeed the size of a mass relay, 15 kilometers long, and closely resembled the Citadel space station in its closed form, a long tapering gun-metal gray cylinder of impenetrable metal. Upon closer examination they saw that the surface of the object was covered with hexagonal metal plates; their outlines faintly glowing a brilliant blue.

Conn'Jarrel pointed to the hexagonal panels, "Do those contain the eezo?"

The quarian at the scanner console ran a quick scan of the object, "Yes, sir. The entire thing is covered by those panels. If we could collect the eezo from all those plates we could fill our entire storage capacity and perhaps more."

"Have the mining laser switched on to full power. Try and cut one of those plates off."

A high-pitched whine ran through the Yaakra as the laser charged. The lights in the cockpit flickered momentarily as the power was diverted to the device. With a deep drone, a ray of brilliant red leaped from the laser's barrel towards the object, striking one of the panels. Red sparks flew from the impact site. A quarian sat at the laser command console carefully traced along the outline of the panel with the beam and switched it off afterward. The panel remained stuck to the object, visibly scorched but otherwise intact.

"Damn it," the quarian cursed, "what do we do now?"

"Someone mark down the coordinates of the object," Conn'Jarrel said, his eyes never leaving the slowly revolving object, "We'll send it off to the Council. With luck, this thing will be our bargaining chip for a _very_ generous amount of eezo." 


	3. Chapter 2

Eight days after the Yaakra discovered the mysterious object, the cargo ship shot through a mass relay and entered the Keplin quasar, where the Prism space station had been constructed.

Finished in 2200, the Prism served as a substitute for the Citadel while the latter underwent major reconstruction following the destructive discharge of the Crucible. Built as a monument to galactic unity after the Reaper War, the tetrahedral station hovered within a magnificent nebula of blue-green gas and dust and served as the heart of galactic civilization.

"This is the Yaakra eezo freighter," the quarian pilot radioed, "requesting permission to dock."

The radio crackled and the voice of a human woman came through, "Apologies, Yaakra, permission denied. All the docking bays are currently full but we will try to accommodate you as soon as possible."

The pilot turned around to face the captain, waiting for further instructions. Conn'Jarrel said from his seat, "Tell her we have an appointment with the Council."

"We…have an appointment with the Council," the pilot repeated.

"You do?" the woman said skeptically, "what is your appointment number?"

The pilot started to reply but trailed off helplessly, again turning to face Conn'Jarrel. The captain tapped a button on his seat, "Request to open a comm channel with the quarian councilor."

A rhythmic series of beeps came over the QEC channel, then a hologram of the quarian councilor was projected before the captain. Though her face and emotions were partially obscured by her visor, Conn'Jarrel could see that she was clearly irritated by the call.

"Who is this?" she asked.

"Captain Conn'Jarrel vas Yaakra, councilor. I have coordinates for an unknown object we discovered on the edge of space in an unknown nebula. Geth Unit 35c led us there. The object contains unimaginable amounts of element zero which would be of great use to the quarians, but the element zero is unobtainable by our equipment.

We are requesting either assistance in extracting the element zero from the object or trading information on its whereabouts for element zero. My terms are up for negotiation, but I hope you understand that either way is greatly beneficial to the quarian race, councilor."

The quarian councilor pondered over Conn'Jarrel's proposal, pacing around her room. After around a minute she returned to face him, "Is your information reliable? We can't risk making a fool of ourselves before the rest of the Council. Not while we're a relatively new race to intergalactic politics. If your information is false, we'll be mocked to no end!"

"Councilor, I have scans of the object uploaded to an optical drive, ready for presentation. I just need ten minutes with the Council. Can you arrange that for me?"

The councilor straightened her robes. "Very well," she sniffed, "you'll have your chance to prove your information's validity. Your appointment is number 7."

"Thank you, councilor." Conn'Jarrel nodded to the councilor and disconnected the call. "Appointment number 7!" he called to the quarian pilot.

The pilot hailed the Prism again, "This is the Yaakra. We have an appointment with the Council. Appointment number 7."

"Let me check that," said the woman. A few seconds later she replied, "You're cleared to dock, Yaakra. Proceed to cargo bay 2."

"Thank you." The pilot swiped and tapped on several panels on his console. The Yaakra's side engines ignited, thrusting the ship towards the space station steadily. A triangular aperture slid open as they neared and the freighter flew through. The cargo bay was significantly larger than the docking bays used by passenger craft, permitting access to the large quarian freighter. Switching off the main engines, several small thrusters on the ship's underbelly slowed its descent and the Yaakra touched down with a jolt upon the silvery docking bay floor.

A ramp angled down from the Yaakra's airlock and descended to the ground, hitting the metal floor with a clang. The airlock doors slid open and Conn'Jarrel stepped through, donning his enviro-suit to protect him from any alien bacteria in the station.

The quarian councilor was waiting for him outside of the docking bay. Slipping the precious optical drive into a pocket, Conn'Jarrel jogged towards her, falling into step as she walked towards the central elevator.

The interior of the Prism was as pristine and shiny as the chrome exterior. The floor and walls largely consisted of aluminum and silvery metals, and lighting was provided by luminous glass cylinders embedded in the walls every few meters, illuminating the hallways and hangars with a pale blue light. The Prism's atrium was spherical and took up most of the stations interior. Fifteen floors, each with numerous shops and entertainment facilities were ringed around a central column of glass, within which slowly spun a metal statue of a double helix. Every so often the helix would discharge a burst of electricity that arced throughout the column and delivered a brief show of brilliant pyrotechnics to the people onboard.

"You're needed in the Council room immediately," the quarian councilor said briskly, not making eye contact. She walked along at a rapid, determined pace while Conn'Jarrel struggled to keep up.

"Has our discovery sparked that much interest already?" he asked.

"Yes." She spoke the word without emotion, giving away nothing. Conn'Jarrel was left to wonder whether she meant it as a positive or negative thing.

They reached the central elevators which ran up along the central column housing the helix. The councilor swiped an identification card against a scanner which beeped brightly. An elevator pod swiftly descended from one of the upper floors, the glass doors sliding apart silently. As soon as they stepped in the councilor tapped on the button for the fifteenth floor and scanned her card again, sending the elevator shooting upwards. An audio advertisement came up over the speakers and the monotone voice of an elcor boomed, "With enthusiasm: Commander Shepard VI now in stock at Dekuuna Exports on the fifth floor. Predicts what the real Commander Shepard would say with seven percent accuracy!"

As soon as the doors parted the councilor was off again, headed straight for the Council's chamber, Conn'Jarrel following closely behind. The entire fifteenth floor had been dedicated to the Council, containing their personal quarters, conference rooms, and the Council chamber where the most important of meetings were held.

The Council chamber had a ceiling of glass, displaying the endlessness of space in all its glory. The Council members were seated on a raised platform high above the chamber floor and looked down imperiously upon the quarians. Conn'Jarrel was told by the councilor to head for a simple metal desk and chair while she ascended to the Council's platform.

Conn'Jarrel sat down, slightly nervous but insistent on not showing it. He sat on the hard seat, fished his optical drive from his pocket and placed it on the desk for all to see. _I'm going to get a neck cramp if I have to look up at them like this for the whole ordeal_ , he thought to himself. Suddenly, a circular fence rose from the floor around him and the section of the floor he was seated upon lifted off and rose to hover at eye-level before the Council, jolting him from his seat. Under the unyielding glare of the Council members, he awkwardly resumed his seat.

"Captain Conn'Jarrel vas Yaakra," the asari councilor started, "you said you have discovered an object of monumental interest to the Council?"

"Y-yes."

"Would you care to elaborate on your claim?" the salarian councilor interjected.

"Of course, councilor." Conn'Jarrel slotted the optical drive into a holographic projector built into his table. It hummed softly before producing a 3-dimensional image of the object the Yaakra had found.

The Council was silent for a moment, each member gazing curiously at the projection. Then the turian councilor spoke, "What exactly is this object?"

"Geth Unit 35c, my second-in-command, recalled the geth being commanded, during the time when a majority of them were under the Reapers' influence, to collect vast amounts of element zero and bring it to an unnamed nebula for some sort of construction project. We believe to have found the result. It is roughly the size of a mass relay and looks noticeably similar to the Citadel. It is coated with hexagonal plating that contains the element zero."

There was another pause as the Council digested the information.

"Is there a possibility of life aboard the object? The Citadel supported millions of lives, what's to say that there isn't the same situation aboard this object?" the human councilor said.

The asari councilor rolled her eyes, "Does it seem likely for the Reapers to order the geth to build a sanctum for organic life?"

"No," the human councilor mumbled, blushing in embarrassment.

"With curiosity: Where is the object?" the elcor councilor boomed in its monotone voice.

 _Now's where we get down to business_ , Conn'Jarrel thought. Out loud he replied, "That takes us into our negotiations. I wish for the Council to provide assistance in extracting the element zero from the object's plating."

"Absolutely not," the turian councilor exclaimed, "something of that value should not be taken apart for your personal gain!"

" _Personal gain!?_ " the quarian councilor stood, her arms stiff to her sides with clenched fists, "Our people have suffered long enough! Now, when we start to recover and ask for some assistance in obtaining element zero, you turn us down immediately? We need the element zero to power our ships and our power stations! My people are in grave danger! Industry and agriculture are failing! We _need_ what's in that station!"

"Calm yourself, my dear," the asari councilor said in her soothing tone, "the Council's decision must be decided upon by the majority," she glanced pointedly at the turian councilor.

Conn'Jarrel continued, "If extracting the element zero is out of the question, I am willing to disclose the object's whereabouts and guide your ships there in exchange for a suitable amount of element zero."

The Council members converged in a tight group to decide upon the scenario placed before them while the quarian councilor sat aside, away from the chatter, her arms crossed before her chest. There was a heated argument between the turian and asari councilors, the first wanting to deny both options while the latter argued for exchanging element zero with the quarians. Conn'Jarrel sat patiently, awaiting their decision. After another five minutes, the group dispersed back to their seats.

The salarian councilor announced, "We have come to a decision, Captain Conn'Jarrel. You will tell us the location of the object and lead a Council shuttle there in order to prove your claim. Once your claim has been validated, you will receive fifty tons of element zero and a license to utilize the element zero mines and refineries on one of our element zero-rich worlds."

"I accept your demands," Conn'Jarrel replied.

"Then it is decided," the asari councilor said, "you will receive your element zero and license as soon as we verify the existence of this object and its described properties. You may leave, Captain vas Yaakra."

"Thank you for your time, councilors." The platform descended back to the ground, reconnecting with the floor. Conn'Jarrel disembarked after ejecting his optical drive from the projector and headed for the Council chamber's doors.


	4. Chapter 3

Several hours after his meeting with the Council, Conn'Jarrel was sat in the copilot's seat of a heavily modified Kodiak shuttle with key members of the Council onboard, guiding the turian pilot towards the object which the Council had dubbed the Monolith. By the wishes of the Council, news of the discovery had not been disclosed, and the public was left in the dark. The only people who knew about the Monolith were the crew of the Yaakra and those aboard the shuttle.

As they passed through the thick purple clouds of the nebula, Conn'Jarrel input the coordinates given to him by Unit 35c into the shuttle's navigational system. A steady beep emanated from the metal box and a luminous yellow trail appeared on the screen for the pilot to follow.

"Did the geth inform you of the object's purpose, Captain vas Yaakra?" the turian councilor piped up.

Conn'Jarrel rotated his seat to face the passenger cabin, "No. Unit 35c claims that all knowledge of the device had been erased along with the Reaper code infecting their systems."

"Are you sure the geth are trustworthy?"

"I have complete faith in the geth," Conn'Jarrel insisted, "they have been a great help in rebuilding quarian society and have displayed no hostilities towards anyone since the Reaper War."

The next twenty minutes passed in silence, the only sound being the gentle whir of the shuttle's engines. Colorful gases obscured the view through the windows yet again, leaving the pilot completely reliant on the navigational systems.

"Captain vas Yaakra," the pilot suddenly said shakily, "we've arrived at the Monolith."

"What's the matter?" Conn'Jarrel asked, noticing his quavering tone.

"Scanners are picking up a ship ahead. Someone got here before we did."

Conn'Jarrel was stunned. There was no way anyone would have known about the object. He had given a direct order to his crew to keep quiet about the object, and the Council had insisted that none of the news agencies had got wind about the Monolith.

"Can you tell what species it is?" he finally said.

"It's…geth, sir."

Sure enough, the scanner screens showed the faint silhouette of a geth cruiser parked beside the Monolith. As the Kodiak shuttle drew closer, Conn'Jarrel ran all the possibilities of the geth finding out about the object through his mind. The most likely culprit was Unit 35c and the rest of the geth crew aboard the Yaakra, but he had to make sure.

"Open a comms channel to the Yaakra," he ordered.

Shortly afterward the voice of the quarian pilot aboard the Yaakra crackled through the shuttle's radio, "Captain."

"Are the geth crew members still aboard the Yaakra?" Conn'Jarrel asked, getting straight to the point.

"No, sir. They disembarked at the Prism and haven't shown up since. I did see them wandering about near the public QECs while I was on shore leave though. Wasn't too difficult. Unit 35c stands out from the crowd like a sore thumb. Is something wrong?"

"What happened after they used the QECs?" Conn'Jarrel pressed.

"I don't know, sir. They went off to the docking bays and that was the last I saw of them."

"I see. That will be all." Conn'Jarrel closed the connection.

"So it seems that the geth have betrayed us," the turian councilor stated.

"We don't know for sure until we get to that cruiser," the asari councilor argued, "we will not risk another war with the geth. There's too much at risk," she glanced towards the quarian councilor as she said the last sentence.

"Do we continue our approach?" the pilot asked Conn'Jarrel.

"Yes. Request some backup in case things go south."

"Yes, sir."

As they approached the geth cruiser, everyone onboard the Kodiak held their breath, their hearts beating furiously, tensed up at the possibility of the ship's GARDIAN lasers firing upon them. However, there was no response to their intrusion from the cruiser.

"Should we try and board?" the salarian councilor suggested.

"Send a docking request to the cruiser," Conn'Jarrel instructed, "we'll dock if there's no response."

The pilot sent out a hail to the cruiser, but it was met with silence.

"Are there weapons aboard this shuttle?" asked Conn'Jarrel.

"There's an equipment locker in the back," the pilot replied, "there's only enough gear for one person though."

"I'll go." Conn'Jarrel made his way to the back of the shuttle and opened the locker. He retrieved an Avenger assault rifle, a Harpy pistol and a kinetic barrier generator which he strapped to his enviro-suit. A blue sheen ran up along his body confirming the shields' presence.

The Kodiak pulled up alongside the geth cruiser's airlock and extended a docking tube which connected with a click. There was a hiss as the pressures within both ships equalized, then the airlock doors slid open, permitting Conn'Jarrel access. As soon as he was through, the doors sealed shut.

"Checking comm systems," the pilot's voice echoed in his helmet.

"I read you," Conn'Jarrel said. He grabbed his rifle and pressed a button, causing the stock and barrel of the gun to extend until he held the full rifle in his hands. He switched off the safety and walked through the dark corridors of the geth ship.

He had never liked boarding geth vessels. The angular walls and geometric design were uncomfortable to his organic mind. He preferred the smooth, flowing hallways of the quarian ships; even the humans' primitive spacecraft felt better than this. Keeping his rifle steady in his arms, he made his way through the labyrinthine interior of the cruiser, his finger on the trigger.

"Anything?" the pilot said.

"At the moment, nothing. It's odd. I haven't run into any geth so far. It's like the ship's been abandoned here."

"Keep in radio contact, sir."

"Copy that."

Geth cruisers varied slightly between one another, and with all the peace conferences held between the quarians and the geth on such ships, Conn'Jarrel had a good idea of the ship's floorplan. It didn't take him long to reach the command center, but as he opened the door he stopped short.

Numerous geth, quite possibly the entire crew, were gathered in the cylindrical chamber, on their knees. The holographic projector in the center of the room was projecting what seemed to be a rapidly shifting, distorting ball made up of uncountable red particles swirling about. A geth prime knelt at the opposite end of the room. Oddly, every single geth was kneeling and faced towards the unusual projection at the center of the command center.

Conn'Jarrel inched into the room. As soon as his foot passed the threshold dividing the corridor and the command center the strange hologram burst apart into a swarm of particles that quickly dissipated. The geth prime got to its feet groggily as if waking from a dream. Its eyes glowed crimson and Conn'Jarrel raised his assault rifle.

"Captain vas Yaakra," the prime stated.

"Are you Unit 35c?"

"Yes."

"What are you doing?" Conn'Jarrel burst out, "you left the Yaakra without the captain's consent, _my_ consent, and decided to get on a geth cruiser to come all the way out here? Start some kind of cult?"

"We were called," the prime said simply.

"What? Called?"

"The device calls us. It beckons us to it. We obeyed its wishes. It commands us."

"You're talking like the thing's alive."

"The device is far greater than what you imagined it to be. It spoke to us; taught us. We will open the Threshold. We must go through. We must reach the other side."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"The Threshold calls to us."

Seeing as the conversation was going nowhere, Conn'Jarrel decided to change the subject, "What was that hologram? The one you were all kneeling before?"

"That was the Overseer."

"The Overseer?"

"When we neared the station, the Overseer spoke to us. Everything went dark. Then the Overseer was there. Within us. It promised us immortality, transcendence of our physical form. All we had to do was activate the Threshold," the prime said, "but there is a problem. The Threshold will not admit us. We do not know what it requires. Now we wait, as the Overseer commanded us to, for the right time."

"And the Overseer resides in the object?"

"No. The Overseer is beyond the Threshold. We must reach it. That is our goal."

"What exactly is the Overseer?"

"Unknown. It has revealed little about itself. We presume it is an extremely advanced artificial intelligence."

"Is there anything else you know about the object? What it holds? What it can do?"

"The Threshold, once activated, will transport us. Destination unknown."

"Right. That'll be all," Conn'Jarrel turned to leave when he heard the noise of a shotgun cocking. He whirled around to see Unit 35c aim a plasma shotgun at him. The weapon discharged, sending three bolts of plasma at high speed towards him. He rolled to the side, taking cover behind a pile of metal crates. A second volley of plasma arced towards him and he ran behind a workstation, hearing the sharp cracks as the plasma hit the electronics. Panting with exertion he peeked above the table just in time to see the door from which he entered seal shut and lock itself.

"The Overseer does not want you to leave," the geth prime mused, "your destruction is required." It ejected the heat sink and marched towards Conn'Jarrel.


	5. Chapter 4

Conn'Jarrel bided his time behind the scorched workstation, locking out all sound save for the rhythmic thump of the geth prime approaching. He heard the shotgun cock yet again but he stayed in cover, his heart racing against his ribcage. Right when he sensed Unit 35c peek over the top of the workstation he swung the butt of his assault rifle upwards, smashing into the geth's single eye.

The prime staggered backward clutching at its shattered lens and Conn'Jarrel seized the chance to unload a fatal volley of rounds into its torso, shearing through synthetic fibers and tubing. White luminescent fluid sprayed from its wounds and the prime fell to the floor twitching. Conn'Jarrel fired twice more into its head with his pistol just to be safe.

As soon as Unit 35c went still, all the other geth in the room got to their feet and faced Conn'Jarrel, dozens of red lenses focused on him. Tendrils of red particles of light seeped from the walls and consoles, swirling over the central projector to form the same image of an ominous red orb. The Overseer was watching the entire ordeal unfold, but Conn'Jarrel was not going to give him the entertainment or satisfaction of watching him die.

He scooped up the plasma shotgun Unit 35c had dropped and battered it against the wall, destroying the complex mechanisms inside. It would not be usable by the rest of the geth now. He dropped the shotgun and readied his assault rifle, aiming at the crowd before him.

Fortunately, most of the geth were unarmed and had to rely upon beating him to death with their spindly arms. He had no trouble in mowing them down as they charged towards him. However, there were two rocket troopers in the room as well. Conn'Jarrel barely managed to dodge the incoming barrage of explosives as he rolled behind another workstation. That was when an idea struck him.

"This is Captain vas Yaakra, does anyone read me?" he radioed the shuttle.

"Affirmative, captain. Where are you?" came the voice of the turian pilot.

"I got caught up in a meeting of a cult of geth. I'm a little busy right now, but I'll be back at the shuttle soon. Prep it for launch as soon as possible. We'll be wanting to leave as soon as I'm aboard."

"Can do, sir."

While the rocket troopers reloaded, Conn'Jarrel made his way to the locked set of doors and stood beside one of the rails that the door ran along. As soon as the geth fired at him he rolled out of the way. With a fiery explosion, the door was ripped from its rail, dented and scorched, and fell to the ground with a hollow clang. Conn'Jarrel dashed through the open door into the maze of hallways yet again.

The familiar sounds of alarm klaxons were lacking, but Conn'Jarrel knew enough about the geth to know that every unit aboard the cruiser was now on full alert. Clutching his assault rifle close to his chest, his finger permanently on the trigger, he raced through the ship, shooting down incoming geth squadrons as he made his way through the ship.

 _Can't let these geth escape,_ he thought to himself as he blew the head off a geth trooper, _it's too much of a risk. I'll need to destroy the server. Shut them all down, and hopefully prevent the Overseer from spreading further. God help us all if it gets to Rannoch._

A number of thick cables ran along the walls of the cruiser's corridors, weaving into and out of rooms. The cables were all connected to the main server located somewhere deep in the bowels of the ship and must have been how the Overseer controlled the vessel's systems. Like a tumor developing on a brain, the Overseer had sunk its roots into the geth's server and gradually taken control of most of the ship's systems.

With a screech of metal scraping against each other the corridor before Conn'Jarrel sealed itself shut with a resounding clang. Cursing, Conn'Jarrel doubled back the route he had come to find a different way to the server. As the doors shuddered and prepared to seal, he ran towards them and dove through the shrinking gap, rolling on the metal floor as he landed. Within seconds he was off again, following the cables, his job made noticeably easier by the Overseer's attempts to slow him down.

Each time the Overseer sealed off a corridor he knew he was going in the right direction. As he descended deeper into the ship the temperature dropped drastically, another telltale sign he was getting close. The powerful server that stored all the geth programs onboard required frequent cooling for fear of combustion.

He charged through a final set of doors and arrived in the server room: a large spherical chamber in the heart of the cruiser. In the center of it all was the main server node, a metal cuboid covered with countless dials, switches and blinking lights. The cables he had followed to get here drooped from the walls of the chamber and connected to the machine in the center. Every once in a while, a flicker of red light would run along the cables, disappearing into the depths of the ship. There were also several frosted-over pipes pumping liquid coolant throughout the machine from two cylindrical silver tanks.

Conn'Jarrel grabbed his pistol and aimed it at the coolant tanks. Before he could fire, the door to the server room slammed shut with such force that both doors were heavily dented. An energy pulse erupted from the server node, instantly overloading his pistol. Conn'Jarrel dropped the smoking weapon with a cry of pain.

A side door to the chamber parted and a squadron of geth charged in, only to be mowed down by Conn'Jarrel's assault rifle before they could pinpoint his location. He ejected the rifle's heat sink and began to fire at the coolant tanks, which turned out to be surprisingly resilient to damage. A majority of his bullets ricocheted off the metal with only a few denting the tank.

A second group of geth troopers entered the room just as his rifle was cooling down. Momentarily in the open, Conn'Jarrel ducked behind the server node while a jet of steam shot from his rifle's firing chamber. The geth split into two groups, each trying to flank him from behind his cover.

Spotting his discarded pistol on the floor, Conn'Jarrel made a wild grab for the weapon, snatching it up in one hand while the other held his cooling rifle. As a geth trooper peeked its head out he fired in its general direction, the inbuilt VI doing its best to compensate for his erratic aim. Several bullets went through the geth's mechanical head, splattering those behind it with its synthetic blood. The geth toppled to the floor motionless, and Conn'Jarrel holstered his pistol as soon as his rifle had cooled.

"Captain! Where are you? We had to repel a geth squadron attacking our shuttle! The safety of the Council is in question, sir!" the pilot's voice rang through his helmet.

"I'm being held up. Leave now and return to get me if I manage to survive. I'll radio you. I'm going to take down the geth server. The geth aboard this ship are too much of a risk to let go."

"Yes, sir." Conn'Jarrel heard the faint sound of the shuttle's engines boosting it away from the cruiser and speeding off a safe distance from the ship.

He realized that he was leaning against one of the many consoles built into the sides of the server node. Quickly scanning through the labels engraved onto the dials and switches, he found a panel labeled 'cooling system'.

He was sweating profusely under his enviro-suit. Panic was beginning to set in. He took down three more geth as they tried once again to flank him while he used the butt of his pistol to break down the panel. After a while of constant hammering, the sheet of metal gave in and revealed a myriad of switches surrounding a single core that glowed bright blue.

 _That must be what's powering the cooling system._

Three well-aimed shots were all it took to shatter the core. Freezing cold coolant oozed from the bullet holes and steam rose in wisps from the puddles. A final shot cracked it in half, spilling the rest of the coolant and disabling the cooling system completely. With the coolant no longer flowing through it, the server rapidly began to heat up. A wave of crimson spread across the consoles of the machine as each system reached critical temperature levels and the warning lights switched on.

Sensing that the geth aboard the cruiser were a lost cause, the Overseer's presence retreated back through the Threshold, releasing its hold upon the geth. Their eyes returned to their normal blue color and they stumbled about confusedly, several examining the weapons they held in their hands. One of them spotted Conn'Jarrel running through the door and called after him.

"Creator Conn'Jarrel! What is happening?" it cried out in alarm. Smoke was rising from the server node now and the entire machine was violently shuddering. The geth turned to face their annihilation in unison, dozens of units accepting their fate in silence.

Conn'Jarrel was halfway to the airlock when the server node exploded, sending a blazing inferno swirling through the entire ship, engulfing everything in its wake. He could feel the heat rising up behind him and he doubled his pace, shouting into his comm.

"This is Captain vas Yaakra! I need an emergency extraction immediately! I'm headed for the airlock!"

"Copy that, captain. We're heading back for you now."

Fortunately, the shuttle hadn't retreated too far, and Conn'Jarrel made it onboard with a few minutes to spare. He clambered into the cockpit and slumped into the copilot's seat. Everything blurred as utter exhaustion set in, and he succumbed to unconsciousness.

As the shuttle pulled away from the crippled cruiser, the hull of the geth ship began to fracture, cracks spreading out across the armored surface. One by one the chambers of the ship were consumed in flame, and the hull was riddled with explosions. The energy built up in the destroyed server chamber was released in a fiery eruption that tore the ship apart, disintegrating anything left onboard and sending fiery shards of shrapnel everywhere.

The geth cruiser, now split into numerous unrecognizable chunks of charred metal continued to degrade, multiple explosions further tearing apart the wreckage as other server nodes combusted. An hour later the destruction had ceased, and the wreckage was drawn into the Threshold's gravitational field; an asteroid field forged from the destruction of a hundred geth.


	6. Chapter 5

Conn'Jarrel awoke to a set of blindingly bright lights shining into his eyes. He found himself sitting on a soft bed in a medical ward somewhere. A steady beeping came from a set of machines built into the wall to his left, several monitors displaying different sets of data regarding his bodily systems. To his relief, all the screens recording his vitals glowed green.

He sat up in his bed and swung his legs over the side. He was still in his enviro-suit, thankfully, and the numerous tubes connected to him had been threaded through the dedicated medical ports on his wrist and back. He had sustained several bullet wounds during the battle aboard the geth cruiser, but his injuries had been tended to and any suit breaches sealed tightly.

A white-coated salarian doctor entered the room clutching a clipboard. Surprised at seeing his patient up and about, he stumbled and nearly dropped his clipboard.

"Glad to see you're feeling well enough to walk about, captain vas Yaakra. You took quite a beating," he said as he handed Conn'Jarrel a packet of distilled water with a tube through it. The quarian accepted the packet graciously and plugged the tube into his water intake port. The salarian walked over to the wall of machines and peered at each of the displays.

"If you don't mind," the salarian turned around to face his patient, "I'd like to unplug you from these machines. Data indicates you're healthy enough to go without them." Receiving a nod from Conn'Jarrel he proceeded to slip on a pair of disinfected gloves and remove the tubes from his body, carefully sealing each port as soon as the piping had been extracted.

"How long have I been here?" Conn'Jarrel inquired.

"Almost three days, captain," the doctor replied, now occupied with the readings from the machines. "You received multiple bullets wounds, thankfully none were polonium, and your body was pushed beyond its usual physical limits.

"You were sent here by order of the Council," he continued, "they did not tell me how you were hurt, but they were willing to pay for all medical charges you may incur."

"Are we on the Prism?"

"Yes, captain. We're in the newly established Huerta Memorial on the Prism. Do you feel well? Is there anything else you need me to tend to?"

"No, doctor that will be all." Conn'Jarrel got off the bed shakily but managed to keep his balance and walk to the doors of his ward. All the while the salarian watched intently, his pen zipping across the paper on his clipboard.

"Am I cleared to leave?" the quarian asked.

The salarian doctor didn't even glance from his board before replying, "Yes, captain. If there's nothing else the matter, you may leave."

"Thank you, doctor." Conn'Jarrel left the ward and made his way through the glamorous halls of the hospital following the exit signs. The hospital had been built as similarly as possible to the Huerta Memorial on the Citadel, with its walls mainly consisting of glass, and lots of artificial sunlight. There was even a grassland under the artificial sky for newly released patients to relax in. Conn'Jarrel stepped through the sliding glass doors and made his way into the field.

The grassy dirt felt strange and alien beneath his feet, the springy sensation unusual compared to the dry rocky earth of Rannoch and the hard metal of the Yaakra. Glancing about he saw two other patients basking in the sunlight; an elderly salarian in a hovering wheelchair and a female quarian sat on a bench looking at the projected image of a lake in the distance.

He made his way to the quarian and asked to sit down beside her. She nodded shyly and scooted aside to make space for him.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Neela'Zaela vas Raeca," she replied, still staring off into the distance. Then she turned to face him and, seemingly surprised, exclaimed, "I know you! You're Captain Conn'Jarrel vas Yaakra! An asari ship came to Rannoch two days ago and dropped off fifty tons of eezo in your name. You saved our society on Rannoch! It was quite the sight, seeing those hundreds of grounded ships lift off into the sky at once, setting off to secure a future for the quarians.

"As a matter of fact, you're the reason I'm here," she added, "it was the eezo you brought home that fueled the Raeca. We're on shore leave now at the Prism. This was the first place I went to ever since I heard some volus in the docking bay mention the indescribable beauty of the Huerta Memorial grassland. I've been here all day, taking it in. I…want to be an artist, you see. A painter." She almost whispered the last sentence, as if scared of judgment.

With most of the members of quarian society revolving around engineering and other careers in technological development, it was rare for an individual to be gifted in an art form, least of all painting. Most quarians regarded art as a waste of time and effort. Why bother with painting when you could be inventing a device that could change history?

"There's nothing wrong with pursuing your dream," Conn'Jarrel said softly, "It's whatever makes you happy that's important. Don't let others tell you how to live your life. Art is just as important to a civilization as development is. You stand out from the rest of our race not because you're strange. Not because you're deluded and follow a pointless dream. It's because you're one of the few that knows how to truly express yourself."

Neela started to reply but stuttered, lost for words. Finally, she simply murmured, "Wow. No one's ever said something like that to me. Most of the time it's the usual insults along the lines of 'You're wasting your life'. But you…you're just as different as I am for appreciating me for who I am and what I love to do."

She carefully extracted a paper notepad she had hid under the folds of her clothing. She lifted up the front cover and folded it back over the ringed clasps and offered the picture to Conn'Jarrel. Upon the simple substitute for an artist's canvas, she had painted the Prism space station as seen from an approaching ship, the glare of the nearby sun shining off its chrome plating.

"I love it," he said, looking over the piece and returning the book to her, "Where did you manage to find a paper book to paint on, not to mention the paint? I'm certain the general shops on Rannoch don't sell such things."

"I had to pay a considerable sum of credits to get my hands on these," she admitted, "an asari merchant was willing to contact one of her Earth-bound ships to provide me with them. I had to give up almost all my savings though."

"I'd say it was credits well spent, Neela."

They lapsed into silence afterward, Conn'Jarrel's arm over Neela's shoulder, the two of them sat watching the lake as the simulated sun began to dip in the sky. As soon as the sun had disappeared halfway over the horizon, Neela leaped into sudden action, grabbing her brush and spreading her paint set across the bench. With her notepad placed upon her lap, she worked with the rapid precision of an engineer but with the gracefulness of a skilled artist.

Almost twenty minutes passed before she finished the painting and carefully held it up for Conn'Jarrel to see. She had recreated the peaceful grassland scene down to every subtle detail, and the gorgeous sunset dominated the background, casting its golden rays across the serene landscape. Neela sat patiently across from him, her legs crossed and hands cradled in her lap, waiting anxiously for his comment.

"Beautiful, as always." Conn'Jarrel returned the book to her which she balanced on a nearby boulder to dry. Straightening up after placing down the book she faced him, her hands behind her back, the faintest of smiles visible beneath her purple visor.

"I'd like to ask you a favor, captain," she began nervously.

"Go ahead."

"I'm thinking of requesting a transfer from the Raeca to the Yaakra. It'll be a welcome relief to be free from all those insults and criticisms, and I'll get the chance to travel the galaxy with you. Who knows, maybe one day I'll get to paint a real grassland. Will you help me forward my request to the Raeca's captain along with your recommendation?"

"Of course, Neela. Welcome aboard." He got up from the bench and she followed closely, clutching her notepad. In the shadow of the rising moon, their hands touched and intertwined, an unspoken bond formed between them.


	7. Chapter 6

Conn'Jarrel had been summoned to the Council's chamber early in the morning the following day for a 'meeting of utmost importance'. He slipped on his enviro-suit and disembarked from the Yaakra at around four in the morning, careful not to disturb any of the crew. Neela's transfer to the Yaakra had been acknowledged by the Raeca's captain and she was currently sleeping in one of the many vacant crew quarters after the geth coup.

This early in the day, most of the Prism's primary systems were running on low power to conserve energy. The various lights were dim, with only those belonging to the all-day bars and clubs still glowing brightly. The central helix statue spun sluggishly on its axis, a direct contrast to the unmatched speed of the elevator sending Conn'Jarrel upwards.

Every member of the Council had gathered in the room prior to his arrival, and many bore the tell-tale signs of sleep deprivation. The quarian councilor slumped in her seat, her head lolling occasionally as she dozed off unknowingly and the salarian councilor seemed to have a constant twitch, likely due to an overdose of caffeine. Only the asari and turian councilors stood imperiously over the gathered group of individuals.

Conn'Jarrel once again stood upon the hovering platform which brought him higher up to face the Council. The asari councilor raised her hand for silence, cleared her throat, and began.

"We're gracious to have you here at such an early hour, captain."

"If you're calling a meeting at four in the morning, this better be good."

"I assure you, it is," the turian councilor sniffed as he noticed Conn'Jarrel's tone.

The salarian councilor perked up and began to speak in a rapid, hurried tone, "Decision of the Council. Expeditionary fleet. To the Threshold. Attempt to unlock it. Attempt to go through. Curious. Very curious."

The asari councilor subtly rolled her eyes and added, "As the salarian councilor said, we are assembling an expeditionary fleet in attempts to activate the Monolith, or what your report calls the Threshold. It will be comprised of ships from most space-faring races and will hopefully lead us into a new era of exploration and advancement should we discover something on the other side."

"What does this have to do with me?" Conn'Jarrel asked.

"By your permission, of course, we would like to have you lead the fleet as commanding officer. Your honorable history in the quarian military has not been forgotten, and your leadership skills are up to the task," the turian councilor said, "do you accept the position, captain?"

"There are some factors I need to know about first. How many ships will I be leading? How many people's lives are at risk? Are we sufficiently armed in case of conflict?"

The human councilor piped up from one of the seats on the chamber's sides, "Currently the fleet is comprised of a turian dreadnought which will act as your means of defense, one cruiser each from the batarians, asari, humans and salarians, as well as a quarian liveship to provide the fleet with the sufficient food and water for the expedition as well as acting as your base of operations."

The asari councilor nodded graciously in the human's direction and turned back to face Conn'Jarrel, "So to answer your questions, you will be leading six ships, your firepower will be more than enough to end any armed conflicts, and you will be leading around 300 people through the Threshold, assuming each of the ships is running on a skeleton crew. Do you accept the position, captain?"

Conn'Jarrel paced the platform several times, pondering, before replying, "Yes."

"Very well. Then you will now have the rank of commander, Conn'Jarrel vas Yaakra, and will be leading the expeditionary fleet through the Threshold. Are there any more questions before we begin final preparations?"

"What is the Council's take on how the Threshold operates?"

The turian councilor replied, "We have contacted several of Commander Shepard's former crewmates and briefed them on the Threshold and its origins. Several of them, including Dr. Liara T'Soni and Garrus Vakarian, believe that the Threshold works in a similar way as the Omega 4 Relay in that it requires a Reaper Identify-Friend-Foe component to activate it. After activation, they speculate that it functions similarly to a mass relay, though it transports vessels far beyond the reach of a typical mass relay."

"What do you mean? How far?"

"Judging by the sheer amount of element zero integrated into the Threshold, Dr. T'Soni estimated that the Threshold is capable of transporting a vessel to a neighboring galaxy within a matter of hours."

Conn'Jarrel spluttered in disbelief, "But…that's impossible! The amount of energy it would need –"

The turian councilor cut him off, "I assure you those were the exact same thoughts we had running through our heads when we heard of this theory. Unfortunately, it is the only logical explanation for the Threshold's purpose."

"Right. Of course. What galaxy are we talking about?"

"Unknown as of yet," the salarian councilor said, "Unchartered space. I advise caution. Possible Reaper occupation."

"There are Reapers there?!" Conn'Jarrel exclaimed.

"Considering that the Threshold was of Reaper origin, the presence of the Reapers in said galaxy is a possibility," said the asari councilor, "you may be suitably armed to repel a light attack, but a full-on assault from a capital ship could be catastrophic."

"I see," he said, careful to suppress his panic in his voice, "when will we depart?"

"The fleet is gathering near the nebula the Threshold is in. You will rendezvous with them in the Yaakra and proceed to activate and enter the Threshold."

The salarian councilor was juggling a circular metal case along with several optical drives. With a sigh, the asari councilor drew the items out from his grasp with a biotic field and sent the case flying towards Conn'Jarrel, who caught it as it roughly slammed into his chest.

"Apologies, commander," the councilor said while dusting herself off. She then gestured to the case he was holding, "that contains the Reaper IFF chip we managed to salvage from one of the many Reaper wrecks about the galaxy. Have it installed in the Yaakra and you should be able to activate the Threshold."

"What is the current situation with the geth?"

"Relations between the geth and the quarians have been fragile at best since the coup," the quarian councilor replied, "they acknowledge that the geth at the Threshold were there against their will, but that does not explain Commander Jarrel's decision in destroying the cruiser."

"They were too much of a risk," Conn'Jarrel objected, "With the Overseer able to take control of an entire cruiser of geth, we cannot risk its presence infiltrating the geth servers on Rannoch. The results would be catastrophic. I'd suggest we withdraw all the geth from our expeditionary craft and have them grounded just in case."

"The geth won't like that, commander, but I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, councilor. Will that be all?"

"Yes, commander. You are dismissed. Meet the rest of the fleet whenever you're ready."


	8. Chapter 7

The Yaakra had been extensively modified by the quarian councilor's demands before its departure from the Prism. Its simple projectile turrets had been replaced with state-of-the-art Thanix cannons and it had been installed with significantly stronger kinetic barriers and engines. The cargo vessel had been converted into a destroyer in a matter of hours and had departed from the Prism as soon as the Reaper IFF had been installed upon the ship.

Neela spent most of her time in the observatories of the ship, sat in silence and staring through the great glass walls at the vast expanse of stars beyond. She never went anywhere without her notepad, and the walls of her quarters had been plastered with colorful, radiant recreations of planets and landscapes extracted from her imagination. By Conn'Jarrel's request, a large window had been installed in the wall of her room, able to be covered with armor plating in case of attack.

Conn'Jarrel sat in his chair in the cockpit, reading the mission briefing the Council had transmitted to him. Occasionally he would glance towards the Reaper IFF chip expertly integrated into the captain's console. Wires crisscrossed across its surface, plugged into numerous ports and the silver surface blinked with the light of a dozen diodes.

In just over three hours the Yaakra had arrived at the nebula concealing the Threshold and was on approach to the rest of the expeditionary fleet in the heart of the cloud. A squadron of batarian interceptors emerged from the fog and converged upon the ship, their weapons armed. Everyone onboard the Yaakra tensed in anticipation and anxiety.

"This is Commander Jarrel of the Yaakra," Conn'Jarrel radioed the leading fighter, "Stand down."

"Acknowledged, commander. The rest of the fleet's just up ahead," the gravelly batarian voice responded.

The interceptors swerved away from the Yaakra and were consumed by the mist yet again, their shadows fading within seconds. The Yaakra cruised through the nebula vaguely in the direction the interceptors had come from. It took another twenty minutes before they burst through the cloud cover and were in view of the fleet.

The cruisers were orbiting slowly around the massive liveship while the turian dreadnought hovered over the scene. They were parked close to the Threshold, as the vast shadow of the object was discernible through the clouds, as was the debris field of the destroyed geth cruiser, now nothing more than shattered shards of armor and metal drifting around the Threshold.

"This is Commander Jarrel of the Yaakra, requesting permission to dock with the Laraka."

"Welcome, commander. You are cleared to dock."

A docking bay door slowly slid open as the Yaakra approached, spilling out rays of brilliant white light from its brightly lit interior. The Yaakra gracefully came to a stop in the bay as the door sealed behind it. Several magnetic clamps descended from the ceiling to hold the ship in place as the boarding ramp descended towards the ground.

A red-robed quarian jogged towards the Yaakra as Conn'Jarrel and Neela disembarked. She nervously nodded in greeting to the commander and repeated the action to Neela.

"Captain Velon would like to meet with you on the bridge, commander."

"Of course. Let's not keep him waiting."

She led them to an elevator at the far wall of the docking bay and they entered the cramped metal capsule which sent them ascending through the bowels of the liveship. The trip up only took a couple of seconds, and with a 'ding' the doors of the capsule slid open and the passengers stepped out onto the command deck.

A wide slit of glass encircled the room, providing everyone inside with 360 degrees of visibility. Numerous workstations were scattered haphazardly about, each with a different individual assigned to it. Besides from the quarians native to the liveship, there were also several turian, salarian and asari crew members wandering about. In the center of the brightly lit room was a circular desk projecting a hologram of the liveship's surroundings, highlighting the silhouettes of the orbiting ships of the fleet. A quarian in navy-blue robes noticed the arrivals and hurried up to Conn'Jarrel to enthusiastically shake his hand.

"Greetings, commander. I am Captain Velon of the Laraka," he said.

"A pleasure to meet you too, captain. Shall we get down to business?"

"Of course. Follow me." The captain returned to his post at the projector desk and gestured to the hulking silhouette of the Threshold. "You're just in time. We installed a basic piloting VI onto one of our shuttles and sent it through the Threshold three hours ago. If it is not destroyed during the transit or upon exiting, it should circle back around and pass through the Threshold again, arriving back in around ten minutes."

He then pointed at the individual craft circling the liveship, "Each of our ships has been fitted with a Reaper IFF, so we are ready to go as soon as the safety of the transit is confirmed. Once our drone returns, you may give the command."

"Understood, captain. Is there anything else I should know about?"

"No, sir. Everything is running smoothly as of late."

A brilliant, pulsing blue glare seeped through the windows of the command deck, drawing the eyes of everyone within. In the distance, the Threshold split into its five arms and began to spread apart. Every single panel built into its surface surged with energy and bolts of lightning arced across its surface. The central ring connected to the arms began to glow and the space through it appeared to distort. With a sudden blast of energy, a small shuttle shot from the space within the Threshold's ring and headed straight for the liveship. Once the shuttle had gone beyond the reach of the Threshold's arms, they closed and sealed shut, and the blue glow was extinguished.

"It seems our drone has returned safely," Captain Velon mused with an air of excitement, "Have one of our mechanic teams run a quick inspection on it."

Ten minutes of radio chatter ensued before the report came from the team at the docking bay, "All systems are still functioning, sir. Aside from the fuel cells draining slightly from the trip, everything seems to be in working order."

"Excellent news." Velon walked to his console and opened a communication link with the rest of the fleet, "This is Captain Velon of the Laraka. By Commander Jarrel's orders, all ships, advance to the Threshold. Activate your installed IFF chips before entering."

On the holographic map, the shadows of the ships swerved towards the Threshold, with the batarian cruiser in the lead. The Laraka's thrusters fired up and the massive ship surged towards the gargantuan object before them. The Reaper IFF aboard the Laraka had been installed into the captain's command console. He flicked a switch next to it and the metal chip flickered to life, sending an encrypted signal to the Threshold, a signal only meant to be produced by the Reapers themselves.

As the batarian cruiser neared the Threshold, the object's arms spread once again and the panels burst into brilliant blue life. Lightning arced across the interior of the object as it slowly rotated to aim at its target destination, a gaping metal maw that would transport the fleet into the unknown. The batarian ship entered the reach of the arms and was struck by countless bolts of electricity from the element zero panels, each strike lowering the cruiser's mass, preparing it for the final leap across space. Once the cruiser passed through the central ring, the fabric of space seemed to warp around it, consuming it in a blinding flash of blue, leaving nothing but emptiness behind.

"The batarians are through," Captain Velon reported. Several seconds later he added, "The asari and salarians have gone through."

The process continued for another fifteen minutes, each ship carefully maneuvering through the charged tunnel of element zero that then launched them through space. Once the turian dreadnought had vanished in a burst of light, all that was left was the Laraka.

"Bring us in carefully," Conn'Jarrel ordered, "We don't want to hit the arms by accident. The combined element zero charge could disintegrate the ship's hull."

Neela had made her way to a window seat and was currently painting the looming Threshold before them, her blue-tipped brush flying across the paper in her lap. Occasionally she would glance up or jump at the slightest noise, clearly anxious of what was to come.

The Laraka veered away from the charged arms of the Threshold, her pilots steering her into the middle of the central ring. As the barrage of lightning strikes against the armored hull began, a cacophony of thumping sounds echoed throughout the ship as the bolts struck. The artificial gravity onboard cut out and various personal articles of the crew were sent floating about. The lights flickered and died as they approached the ring. Once they crossed the boundary, there was a deafening 'whoosh' as the ship was launched into space at unparalleled speeds. Conn'Jarrel felt a terrible crushing, almost suffocating sensation. He sat down heavily in a nearby seat, fighting to control his nausea.

"How…long…does this…last?" he gasped to Velon.

"Around three hours," came the reply. Velon was currently attaching a plastic motion sickness sack to his visor's mouthpiece, and his speech sounded slurred and muffled. Conn'Jarrel motioned for Velon to pass him a sack as well, which he attached to his own visor with a click.

The ship suddenly jolted violently, sending everyone on the command deck flying. Neela tumbled to the floor with a gasp of surprise, clutching her notepad tightly to her chest. Blue paint splattered against the metal walls and floors. Velon was launched backward into a thankfully empty seat.

Conn'Jarrel gripped the armrests of his seat tightly, the white fabrics wrinkling under his grip. There was a clang from somewhere in the room. A metal panel had been dislodged from the wall by the turbulence. A series of clangs reverberated across the room as the panel was bounced to and fro by the shuddering liveship.

Conn'Jarrel spared a glance behind him to survey the situation just as the panel deflected off a table and flew towards his face. There was a cracking noise and the alien smell of unfiltered, contaminated air filled his helmet. Then everything went black.


	9. Chapter 8

"Is he going to be alright?" the worried voice of Neela echoed through Conn'Jarrel's murky subconscious.

"Unsure as of yet," a salarian said, "Vital signs are stable. No major injuries suffered. Visor breach could cause complications, however. I propose freezing him in cryogenic sleep and have him tended to at the Prism in case of disease."

Then came the voice of Captain Velon, "We can't afford to freeze Commander Jarrel now. Not while we need his leadership more than anything. He's the only one keeping this fleet together."

There was a sigh from the salarian, "Very well, captain. Injecting stimulants now. The commander should awake in a couple of seconds."

Conn felt a tingle of warmth somewhere to his right, which spread rapidly throughout his system. The impenetrable fog that shrouded his thoughts cleared, and he found himself peering through his blue visor at the ceiling of a room. Coughing, he shakily sat up on the bed and gazed about.

"Are you feeling well, commander?" the voice came from his left. Conn turned to face Captain Velon who stood leaning against the wall, arms crossed before his chest.

"I'm fine, captain," Conn replied as he swung his legs off the bed onto the cold floor, "A bit nauseous, but that's not important. Did we make it?"

Neela placed her hand upon his shoulder gently, "We've successfully passed through the Threshold, Conn. All ships are accounted for. We're just waiting on you now."

"What happened? I remember getting hit by a panel that came off the wall, and nothing after that."

The white-armored salarian doctor spoke, "You were knocked unconscious by the panel, commander. Unfortunately, the visor of your suit was cracked by the impact, leaking in unfiltered air. Neela managed to reach you and patch up the breach with tape until medical staff arrived and brought you here to the clinic. You'll be glad to know your defunct visor has been replaced."

"Am I sick, doctor? Any contaminants?"

"Unknown as of yet, commander. I'm sorry."

Conn got off the bed and walked to the clinic door, "Nothing to be sorry about, doctor. You did your job well. For now, we have bigger things to worry about than me being sick. Captain Velon, meet me on the command deck and brief me on our situation."

"Yes, sir," Velon opened the door and hurried to the adjacent elevator. The doors slid apart and Conn and Neela entered the capsule which shot upwards.

They approached the command desk and Velon brought up a hologram of the ships clustered around the Threshold. He typed several commands into the console and a map of a star system was projected before them as well.

"The Council has dubbed this system Oblivion," Velon said, "Initial scans have returned unusual results. The strangest of all is that Oblivion is five times the size of the Sol system, and yet is a galaxy in itself. The Milky Way is made up of numerous star systems, but Oblivion consists of only one huge system, containing around fifty planets. These planets orbit around an abnormally strong black hole in the heart of Oblivion."

"Any signs of life on any of them?"

"That brings us to our next important subject," Velon replied. He tapped on the console and a beeping noise emanated from the command desk. Two beeps with around half a second of silence between them, reminiscent of a heartbeat, repeated several times before Velon shut off the sound. A red dot appeared on the map near the edge of the system.

"We picked up that signal around an hour after emerging from the Threshold. It's been running on a loop ever since. As you can see, it's coming from somewhere near the edge of Oblivion. Our signal analysts have identified it as the distress beacon of an asari ship."

"Why would there be an asari signal here? As far as I know, we're the first non-Reapers to enter this system. Something doesn't add up."

"That's why we intend to find the source, commander. The crew of the batarian ship wishes to investigate the signal further."

Conn glanced at the map of Oblivion, "How long would it take to get there? Are there mass relays or something alike in this system?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Neela said, "There seem to be mass relays scattered about the system despite its small size, though there are only around seven that we are aware of. The closest one is only half an hour's flight away from the fleet's current position, and the recipient relay is about two hours from the signal source."

"Have them cleared for departure." Conn approached the large window spanning the length of the room and gazed out upon the small fleet of ships. He heard his order repeated by a turian at the communications system and saw the engines of the batarian cruiser ignite with a brilliant blue flame. The ship leaped into FTL and vanished in the blink of an eye.

Conn stared at the place where the batarians had been mere seconds ago, then pushed himself away from the glass. "We may have just sent them straight into a death trap," he murmured as he walked back to Neela and Velon.

"Try not to worry so much about every decision you make, commander," Neela said with a soothing smile under her mask, "It's a huge burden, knowing the lives of all these people are in your hands, commander, but the Council picked you because they knew you were up to task. Don't go proving them wrong.

"Perhaps you should have some rest, commander. The position you're in is not one that people adjust to within a day. Visit your quarters on the top deck. I hope you'll find the accommodations satisfactory," Velon added from his workstation.

Conn nodded to them both, proceeded to the elevator, and headed up to the top deck of the Laraka. The commander's quarters took up a majority of the deck dedicated to the quarters of the higher ranking officers aboard such as Captain Velon. Access was granted through the use of voice recognition, as the quarians' enviro-suits prevented them from using any form of biometric security. A microphone built into a panel beside the quarter door waited expectantly.

"Commander Conn'Jarrel vas Yaakra," Conn said as he lowered his mouthpiece to the microphone. A red light blinked green and the quarter doors slid apart smoothly, admitting him entrance to the luxurious quarters.

The room was aptly furnished with silver chairs and tables. A large fish tank had been installed into one of the walls, housing several multicolored alien fish. Several artistic masterpieces hung from the walls, many of them by famous asari artists renowned for their race's artistic genius, but there was one framed piece that stood on his desk with 'Neela' carefully written into the bottom right corner in black ink.

Conn picked up the picture to take a closer look. It was a portrait of him and Neela he sat upon the bench in the Prism hospital's garden, surrounded by colorful flower and a glowing sunset in the background. Conn smiled and replaced the picture, making a mental note to himself to thank Neela for it.

His bed was located at the very end of the room before a circular window, a silver-framed double bed with luminous lava lamps built into the bedstead. Conn lay down upon the comfortable bed with a sigh of content.

"Computer – dim the lights," he ordered. The lava lamps faded to a faint glow and the ceiling lights dimmed, leaving the only source of light being the window through which the lights of the distant stars poured through. Conn rolled over on the bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.

Around two hours later the batarian cruiser emerged from FTL, near the region where the signal source had been detected earlier. It had still not faded, for the ship's scanners were still able to pinpoint the source and pick up the pulses of sound.

The captain of the ship paced the command deck, his four eyes roving over the crew before him. Though none of them showed it, he was sure he could sense anxiety and fear brewing among them. By volunteering to be the first to explore this new galaxy, he had hoped to prove his race's capability to the rest of the Council races; many of which still considered the batarians as the scourge of the galaxy. However, now that he had made his decision, he was beginning to feel a sense of malaise as they neared their objective, an unshakeable feeling that something was bound to go wrong.

 _Yet we could not turn back_ , he thought as he returned to his seat in the cockpit, _that will show cowardice and will weaken our reputation among the galactic community further._

Only twenty minutes from the source of the distress signal, he ordered his navigator to scan for nearby ships. A minute of silence passed before the latter returned to him with the results.

"There's no sign of an asari ship anywhere in the vicinity," the navigator said, "however we _are_ picking up a vast object ahead emitting a powerful energy signature."

"How big is it?"

"Around the size of the Prism, sir. Should we continue our approach?"

The captain considered the options he had before waving the navigator away, "get close enough so we can get an image of it and return it to the Laraka. We'll wait for further instructions after that."

They cruised through the void of space for another ten minutes before the deep rumble of the cruiser's thrusters faded and died and the ship ground to a halt. The captain approached the navigator and peered at his screen.

The object seemed to be some sort of space station, but of what type, the captain could not make out, for the object was shrouded in shadow. A large number of red lights dotted the metallic surface of the station and several odd rod-like protrusions stuck out from the bottom of it. From the image, the space station bore an eerie resemblance to Omega, with its similar jellyfish-like design.

"Send that image back to the fleet along with dimensions of the station," he ordered.

"Can't do that, sir," a female batarian seated at the communications station called, "we can't get a signal through. Something's jamming our comms."

The captain glanced through the window at the station ahead. A flickering red glow had erupted from the bottom end of the station and was rapidly growing in intensity. That was when he noticed the distress signal had stopped. Alarm bells rang in his skull and the captain scrambled back to his seat.

"Get us out of here! Now!" he cried.

"Engaging thrusters," the pilot said, his voice cracking with mounting fear, "We're backing away but we're going too slow!"

"Divert power from secondary systems to the drive core!"

There was a blinding flash from the direction of the station and a pulsing sphere of energy leaped from the construct. It sped through space towards the cruiser and washed over it, violently throwing everyone onboard to the floor. Shakily, the captain got to his feet and switched on his comm.

"This is the captain to engineering. Divert power to the drive core."

There was a crackle of static from the radio and a rapid, rhythmic thump of running footsteps, then the strained voice of a batarian came through.

"I don't know what the hell just happened, but something overloaded the drive core! Get everyone to the escape pods before the energy discharges!"

There was the sound of an explosion followed by the sound of crackling electricity and rushing air, "Damn it! Evacuate the ship, captain! There's nothing you can do for us!" A high-pitched whine came from the radio followed by the scream of pain from the batarian on the other end and the crackle of scorched flesh.

Stunned by the sudden turn of events, the batarian captain looked up from the dead radio at the corridor that lead to the cockpit. The surging, rolling wave of blue and purple energy was the last thing he saw before his body was enveloped in agonizing pain. As he lay on the floor, convulsing and twitching among his crewmates, life rapidly fading from him, he found himself grasping at a final wish, that it would all be ended soon.


	10. Chapter 9

Captain Velon was at the silver doors of the commander's quarters, knocking on the smooth metal plates before him. Just a few minutes ago, the batarian cruiser had abruptly dropped off the command center's galaxy map along with the mysterious asari distress signal. Velon had ordered for the Yaakra to be prepared for deployment and her crew gathered while he briefed Conn'Jarrel in his quarters.

The doors slid apart, revealing the commander leaning sleepily on the doorframe in his crumpled enviro-suit. Conn gestured for the captain to enter, and the two men sat down at the room's dining table, facing each other. Velon tapped on a console and a sealed cup with a straw rose from an aperture in the table before Conn. Through his tinted visor, Velon could see the other quarian skeptically raise an eyebrow.

"Drink it," Velon said as he leaned back in his seat, "It'll help wake you up."

Conn slotted the straw into his mouthpiece and sipped from the cup. Velon watched in silence for several seconds before beginning to brief the commander.

"We lost contact with the batarians fifteen minutes ago," he began gravely, "the asari distress signal disappeared a few seconds before they did, so the two are definitely linked in some way."

"Let me guess," Conn interjected as he extracted the straw, "you want to send a team to investigate."

Velon watched the empty cup sink into the table aperture before replying, "As a matter of fact, I do. Every single ship we have is crucial to our survival in this system. If we lose a ship, we need to find out why it happened before the same thing happens to another one of our ships. We can't run the risk of getting picked off one by one."

"Suppose they wandered into a trap." Conn got up from his seat and made his way to the quarters' window where he stared out at the stars. "We'd just be sending another crew to their deaths."

"That's a chance I'm willing to take if it'll guarantee the safety of the fleet, commander. It's clear that we're unwelcome guests here, and something's out to get us. But if there _is_ something dangerous lurking in this galaxy, our job is to eliminate it before it becomes a threat to the Milky Way and beyond. Investigating the missing cruiser might just give us a clue as to what exactly it is we're dealing with."

Conn paced the area before the window, his arms crossed before his chest. Then he returned to the table and sat down before Velon, who watched on expectantly.

"Fine, we'll send a ship to investigate," Conn said, "But on one condition. I'm going too."

Velon shot up from his seat and slammed his hands on the table, "Absolutely not. You know how important you are to this entire operation. You know that we can't afford to lose you."

"If whatever happened to the batarians has something to do with the Overseer, I need to know what it is. The fleet's safety comes first, true, but its safety cannot be guaranteed without understanding who or what this 'Overseer' is. It could be a damn Reaper that survived the Crucible for all we know! I _need_ to go."

Captain Velon sighed in defeat and stared unseeingly at the table. "I suppose I don't have a choice, do I? Seeing as you outrank me and whatever you say goes."

"Something like that," Conn shrugged.

"Very well. You may go, sir. But I insist that you are accompanied by another ship. Nothing too big, just a recon shuttle from the turians. If things go south, you are to abandon your ship, board that shuttle, and get your ass back here immediately. I would say that I trust you'll keep out of trouble, but that would be a lie."

"Of course, captain."

"Listen, commander," Velon straightened up, "I'm not putting you out of your place, and I certainly don't intend to boss you around. You've earned your position as commander, that I am sure of, and you have all the right in the galaxy to lead us. All I'm doing is trying to keep you from dying, and keeping this fleet together, alright?"

"Got it, Velon." The two men got up from their seats and made their way through the quarters' doors and to the elevator.

"I'm to make my way to the Yaakra, yes?"

"Yes, commander. All the crew members should have been gathered by now. I'll contact the turians and have them send a recon shuttle to accompany you."

Conn stepped into the elevator capsule and saluted to Velon as the doors closed and the capsule descended down to the docking bays. Neela was waiting for him as the doors slid apart, and they walked together towards the Yaakra's boarding ramp.

The quarian destroyer backed out from the Laraka's docking bay twenty minutes later after all the necessary pre-flight checks had been done. Pivoting in the direction of the closest mass relay, the Yaakra's thrusters ignited and she cruised swiftly through space, soon joined by the turian shuttle dispatched from the dreadnought. Flying side by side, the two ships surged into FTL speeds and were gone.

Velon stepped away from the command room window as the last remaining glowing particles from the ships' engines dissipated into space. He made his way to the elevated platform of the captain's seat and brought up a miniature galaxy map on his console as he sat down.

For the next hour or so he carefully read through the readings returned by the Laraka's scanners of each and every planet in the system, comparing them with the Council's rubric of 'golden worlds'. Out of the fifty planets in Oblivion, thirty were capable of supporting life. The remaining twenty contained abnormal amounts of natural resources. Something was very wrong with this system, and the entire thing seemed to be some sort of elaborate, galaxy-wide experiment. Velon pushed the thought into the dark recesses of his mind and decided to focus on the task at hand.

The fleet Admiralty, composed of the captains of each of the ships, had decided that it was too big of a risk to remain near the Threshold and that they should locate a suitable planet to establish a base upon. Thus, Velon highlighted five of the planets on the galaxy map with bright yellow circles and transmitted his edited copy of the map to the rest of the fleet. In the next few days, several ships would be dispatched from the fleet to venture forth and explore these 'golden worlds' and locate a suitable one for settlement.

For the next hour or so he watched through the glass panels of the command center at the periodic departures of shuttles from the ships of the fleet. When the light of the last ship's engines had faded away after jumping to FTL speeds, Velon backed away from the glass and headed for the elevator, planning to get a few precious hours of sleep before he was needed again.

The Yaakra and her companion shuttle shot out of FTL speeds three hours later, rapidly decelerating as they neared their target. The Yaakra's upgraded scanners wasted no time in picking up the batarian cruiser's signature, marking a red blip upon the map laid out before Conn'Jarrel. It did not take long for the ship to eventually come into view.

From his seat at the center of the cockpit, Conn saw the shattered wreckage of the cruiser drifting ahead of them. It had been almost sheared in half, with the back end of the ship dangling from a thin strip of metal. Where the ship's hull had split, the edges were jagged and charred black. A debris field of discarded cargo crates, shards of metal, and furniture encircled the wreck.

"Switch on the searchlights," Conn ordered as he leaned in for a better look.

The front-mounted lights of the Yaakra, remnants of her time serving as a cargo vessel, blazed into life, casting vibrant white beams of light across the wreckage. A quarian sat before a command console carefully moved the lights to scan across the destroyed cruiser. A batarian corpse drifted across their illuminated view, burnt to a crisp, pearly bones exposed from blackened flesh. Several of the quarian crew members suppressed rising gags.

"See if their airlock is still intact. We need to send a boarding party across."

The lights moved across the front half of the ship and focused on a square hatch built into the left side of the ship. A red holographic icon was display upon its otherwise featureless surface, indicating that it still had power.

"Is this necessary, sir? We could always enter through the hull breach," the pilot pointed out.

"Seeing as that's where the ship was blown apart, I'd suggest we steer clear of that area if we can. There may be hazardous amounts of radiation left over from the blast. Even in our enviro-suits we would be cooked from the inside out."

Neela rushed into the cockpit wearing her armored enviro-suit, "I heard you were assembling a boarding party. I want in."

"Of course," Conn replied, "We just need one of the engineers to accompany us to bypass any technological barriers we may come across."

"I'll get someone," Neela called over her shoulder as she left the cockpit, "We'll meet you at the airlock."

Conn got up from his seat and headed to his personal quarters located in one of the Yaakra's former cargo containers. He opened the locker built into the wall of his room and extracted his armored enviro-suit. These suits were issued only to the quarian military and occasionally to young quarians departing on their Pilgrimage. Thick armor plates covered most of the vulnerable spots on the enviro-suits, including the shoulders, knees, and chest. A thin, see-through hood could be slid over the glass mask of the suit as well, providing additional protection for the wearer's face.

Conn grabbed his extensively modified Reegar carbine off from its rack on the wall and slung it over his shoulder, where it clamped onto the magnetic holster. He then made his way through the Yaakra towards the airlock to meet up with Neela and the engineer. Conn had been trained as a soldier rather than someone skilled in mechanics, and so required someone with extensive knowledge in engineering to accompany them.

Neela was standing beside the airlock's control panel by the time he arrived. A fidgety quarian engineer in a yellow enviro-suit accompanied her, running some diagnostics on his omni-tool. Both had aptly armed themselves for the excursion and were waiting expectantly for the commander.

Conn stepped into the airlock and the engineer sealed the door behind him. There was a slight tremble in the floor as the Yaakra inched towards the batarian cruiser, followed by the grinding noise of the docking tube extending. The door leading outside opened and the trio walked along the tube that connected the two ships. Once they reached the other side, the engineer positioned himself beside the control panel while Conn and Neela drew their weapons and aimed them at the door.

Conn nodded to the engineer, who opened the airlock door. As soon as the rusted metal parted with a faint scraping noise, Conn rushed through, brandishing his carbine. He switched on the mounted flashlight and quickly scanned the ship. Finding nothing, he motioned for Neela and the engineer to follow, the latter sealing the door behind them.

The first thing they noticed was the smell. The entire cruiser reeked of scorched flesh. Neela gasped in disgust and sealed her olfactory filters, blocking out the rancid stench. Conn's flashlight beam penetrated the darkness, illuminating the corridor which they were in.

"The walls are all burnt," the engineer stated as he approached the closest wall and ran his finger along it. A thick coating of ash came away as his finger brushed the wall.

"Any idea what happened here?" Conn asked him.

"I have a theory, but I'll need more evidence to support it before I can be sure. Let's keep looking around." He walked several steps forward then leaped backward with a shout. Conn swung his flashlight around to shine on him, his breath caught in his throat. The engineer knelt down and picked at something on the floor before standing up again. "Sorry about that. Brushed against another corpse. It's also been badly burnt. Skin's peeling off."

"Conn, over here," Neela called. Conn approached to see her wiping a layer of dust from her hands.

"What is it?"

"Look closely," Neela clapped her dust-caked hands together, sending a cloud of ash into the air. As the ash dissipated and sunk to the floor, several glowing blue particles remained suspended in the air.

"Well that explains what happened here," Conn said.

"What does?" the engineer came over.

Conn pointed at the glowing particles that had now begun to spiral to the ground slowly, "That's powdered element zero. See how they remain suspended in the air longer than the ash? That's due to their mass effect properties making them significantly lighter than the surrounding ash."

"Their drive core must have overloaded," the engineer exclaimed, piecing the evidence together, "They probably never got around to discharging it before passing through the Threshold. It's an excruciatingly painful way to go, from what I've heard. If you're lucky, the heat burns you alive and you die a relatively quick death. If you're located further away from the drive core, the heat would have dissipated, but then you would be struck by the built-up static charge. You'll basically be slowly torn apart cell by cell."

"Is that what happened to our friend over there?" Neela gestured towards the batarian that was slumped across the metal floor.

"I doubt it," the engineer replied, "He probably got cooked by the heat. Those in the cockpit however, would have been hit by the static discharge. When the energy hits you, your cells may just break apart from each other, eroding your flesh. All of a sudden, your arm may just drop off. Or your head. Expect a very grisly sight when we enter the cockpit."

They left the corridor and its scorched corpses and proceeded towards the rear of the ship where the drive core would be housed. A heavy bulkhead door barred their path. Conn pried the door aside before suddenly losing his footing and flew through the gap he had made. Neela and the engineer caught him by the arm before he could be sucked out further and dragged him back to safety, sealing the bulkhead behind him.

"That proves that the drive core overloaded," the engineer said as he helped Conn up, "there's nothing beyond that door. It's supposed to lead to the chamber housing the drive core, but the core must have overloaded and tore the ship in two. Keelah, it'll take a hell of a lot of power to do that."

"The door must have been sealed by the vacuum of space after the ship exploded," Neela added.

"Time to check out the cockpit." Conn headed for the opposite end of the ship, his hand running along the walls of the ship, leaving a thick trail of ash and element zero particles in his wake.

Once again, a bulkhead door stood between them and their objective. Together, they pried it open and entered the room.

Batarian corpses were strewn across the cockpit, some slumped dead over their consoles, but most lay on the ground, their bodies twisted in grotesque forms from the muscle spasms accompanying the fatal static charge. Among them was the captain clad in his gold-detailed under-armor, lying beside the ship's navigator and his station. Conn stooped to inspect the captain's body but leaped backward with a cry when the flesh disintegrated at his touch.

"What'd I tell you? That static charge does wonders to an organic body," the engineer said grimly as he extracted a power cell from his bag, "We should bring one of these consoles back online and find out what happened, but I only have one cell."

"Get the navigator's console on," Neela called from across the room, "that's where the captain died. It's likely that he was looking at something on the screen when it happened."

"Navigator's console it is." The engineer went down on one knee to clip the power cell to the abandoned console. There was a click, a low hum, and the screen switched on, displaying the familiar scanner map.

"Can you bring up the last records of this console?" Conn asked as he looked over the engineer's shoulder.

"Sure." The quarian scrolled through a list of data entries and brought up the one timestamped with the exact moment that the cruiser went offline. It showed a massive object less than a kilometer from the ship shaped roughly like the Omega space station.

"I'm guessing that's our culprit," Neela said.

"It has to be," the engineer replied, "It has to be the source of the asari distress signal as well. Seems like they walked straight into a deathtrap. Whatever that object is, it somehow overloaded the cruiser's drive core and killed everyone onboard. From what I've noticed, there's no sign of looting anywhere on the ship, so they can't be pirates."

A red light blinked rapidly at the corner of the metal console. The engineer swiped out from the data entry back to the live scanner readings. A red blip moved across the map, blinked and disappeared, then reappeared several meters away. The process continued to repeat. Judging by the grid on the scanner screen, the object was around two hundred meters in diameter. Too small to be the object that attacked the cruiser, but large nonetheless.

"It seems we've walked right into their trap as well," Conn said calmly as he unclipped his carbine from his back and held it firmly in his arms.


End file.
